Scars
by Megs77
Summary: Each scar was just a way of showing that you had overcome a hardship.  More importantly it meant you had overcome a hardship with the help of your friends.


**I'm not really sure what exactly inspired me to write this...probably the music that I've been playing non-stop tonight. This is the first Hetalia fic I've written ever so please don't be too harsh. Save the angry reviews for my second story! I hope you all enjoy. :]**

** Scars**

_-"Help me be strong, help me be...help me..."-_

How had things come to this? Only several hours ago Arthur had been sitting in the lounge sipping on a freshly poured cup of tea when the phone rang. He hadn't been prepared for what came from the other end. The next thing he knew he was flying up the walk to a house, one he was all too familiar with.

With a quick turn of the knob the door was open and immediately the man knew not all was right. The chair that sat the closest to the obnoxiously large television was vacant, a sight he was not used to.

With a quick scan of the large living area, emerald eyes fell on the reason he was here. His former colony, the young man that he still cared for dearly. His back was to Arthur, his gaze fixed on the acres of untouched land through the large bay window. England approached cautiously, not wanting to startle the man.

"Alfred." The word was gentle, his tone soothing. There was no response, just the same blank stare. Tears rimmed his eyes and slid easily down his cheeks. Silent sobs racked his body. The proud, self-proclaimed heroic country had been reduced to an emotional wreck. It was absolutely heartbreaking for England to watch.

Arthur wasn't sure of what to do in that moment. Watching America in his hopeless desperation was completely awful but not knowing how to help was worse. He felt like a part of him was suffering. It was to be expected though, even after America's proclamation of independence Arthur had always felt as though he and his former colony were still connected somehow. Perhaps that was the reason he still cared so much for the boy. Perhaps that was why it killed him to see Alfred this way.

Silence enveloped the room, yet it wasn't uncomfortable. England was content just being near him, silently reassuring him that he was there.

Sky blue eyes closed, pushing out a new stream of tears. His bottom lip quivered as he opened his mouth to speak. "Why?" It was choked and small. The sound tugged at England's heart and his eyes hit the floor. How exactly was that question supposed to be answered? He pondered for a few moments and gave a small defeated sigh. Only hours earlier three planes had crashed in an attack against the still very young country. England knew that America was able to fight his own battles but nonetheless it was still so very difficult.

"All of those people who..." Died. That's what he was going to say. He just wasn't able to bring himself to say that word. Who could blame him? What had happened was a tragedy and even that was putting it mildly. Thousands of innocent people had just lost their lives. Who knew how many people were missing? Even more had become widows, widowers and orphans. A large wound had opened and it would take years, perhaps generations to heal. Even then it would never fully go away, only leave another scar.

Arthur reached out a hand, gently taking Alfred's arm and giving him a slight pull. He was met with no resistance as he pulled the young man into his arms. Fingers weaved through sandy blonde hair and America rested his head on one of his friend's shoulders.

"You listen to me love, everything is going to be alright. I will promise you that much. I brought you up to be strong and unafraid and all you have done until now is make me so proud of you. I know you will get through this." He was so gentle and genuine. He was always this way when America was hurting, England had always been there to pick him back up when he felt as though he was falling to pieces.

A small knock was heard at the front door. "Come hear my dear boy." Arthur guided Alfred to his favorite chair and helped him get seated before he started for the door. It was then he hesitated, shooting a glance backward. The young man was slumped in the chair. He meekly raised a hand to wipe at one of his puffy red eyes. The sight of him sent England back towards the chair. He cupped a hand under America's chin and pressed his lips to the side of his forehead. "Now now, don't let those tears get the best of you." A sweet smile spread across his lips as he headed back towards the door.

Needless to say he was surprised to see who all was on the other side of it. "I-Italy? France, Japan? Germany and Prussia too?" There were more as well. Even Russia and China were in tow. "Ya! We came to see America and try to cheer him up!" Italy rocked back and forth on his heels eagerly as he tried to peek into the house. "Oui. How is our little Amerique?" France chimed in.

A small sigh escaped England's lips as he thought about the best way to answer that question. "Well, as you can imagine he isn't very well at the present moment. This situation has gotten him rather worked up. It is to be expected though. Poor fellow." Moving to the side he motioned for everyone to come in.

America tilted his head slightly, eyes widening at all of the people entering the room. What were they all doing here?

Russia quietly moved to the front of the group and knelt down right beside the chair. The sweet smile on his face was genuine today, not just the emotionless expression he often wore. In one of his hands was a bouquet of the most beautiful sunflowers the American had ever seen. Everything about them was perfect, from the vibrant yellow petals to the dark golden core. The young man's eyes moved from the flowers back to Russia's unwavering smile.

"I picked these especially for you. I went to each of my fields to find the most perfect sunflowers I could. If ever I feel sad or lonely these always help me to smile. I hope they help you to smile as well."

America could only stare, surprised, yet touched by the Russian's gesture of kindness.

"Ya! And I broughta the pasta! I made them special just for you America. You see little American flag shapes? I made them all by myselfa!" The Italian pointed at the special pieces he had formed with the fragile dough.

It seemed that each country had done something special for the American, keeping his favorite things in mind. Germany and Prussia brought him a special beer they had been perfecting for some years now. France offered him some of his finest wines, from the southern regions of his country of course. Japan came with newly released video games he thought America would enjoy. It would be at least a couple of years before they came out in the states.

And even more gifts were given. England stared in awe as each person took their turn encouraging the American. Whether it be in words or actions, such as a small pat on the back or even a hug. Calling it touching was a severe understatment. Every nation present was there to let him know that they were all behind him all the way.

A small smile spread across Arthur's face when he watched Russia pull America in for a hug. The smile grew when he watched Alfred mouth the words 'thank you'.

Every nation in the room knew all too well what it felt like to be broken. How it felt to be beaten so badly that you didn't think you would be able to stand back on your own feet. Everyone also knew that in order to heal a wound of that calibur you needed someone you could rely on to help you. Each country was there to show America that they had each been in his position in one way or another. Whether it be opression, war, disease, famine or an attack against them they had all risen above it. Now they would help him heal.

It seemed as though scars weren't that bad after all. Possessing scars was just another way of saying that you had overcome a hardship in your lifetime. But more importantly it meant that you had overcome that hardship with the help of your friends.

A happy hum escaped England's lips as he made his way back over to the group surrounding his little Alfred.

Yes, it seemed that scars were indeed a beautiful thing.


End file.
